Posts tagged POETRY
Lacrosse

We settled into ourselves and the talk. I remember
less of what we said than how it felt.
Between us, stilled spoons and glasses, each
with a glint of candlelight, bending slightly,
as we joined in the purr and put of ideas: listen,
and respond, a back and forth in which we joined.

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Sandy SolomonTSRPOETRY
the war on witches

—my grandma doesn’t know. My grandma watches
the news. We hear a woof and I woof back—my grandma thinks
I’m dead//talking like a dog//coyote-hungry—I can’t find any money so
I work for it in the night.

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Mitchell KingTSRPOETRY
Tender

In zombie movies there’s always a couple who fuck
one last time, drink some wine and just give up.
This is the only reason I can think of
to fall in love again. On first dates men often ask
how you would rather die,

I kid you not, drowning or fire.
They want to know my body even as it’s destroyed
by my imagination. The world is burning
and we can’t stop saying the word tender.

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H.R. WebsterTSRPOETRY
Commute

We pass a massive plaster cow perched above a party store. We pass an American flag obliterating the landscape, then an ice cream shop. I want to wonder with you what the cow means. But you are not a morning person and I love you.

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Marie SweetmanTSRPOETRY
Seafarers

To be birth marked on arrival to wade through
Sulfurous waves is no easy burden.
Set your eyes to the horizon and inhale.

When the starving sea groans and its monsters leap,
Hold fast to those songs that stem from the ocean’s depths.
Do not waver, sing!

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Omotunde OredipeTSRPOETRY
A Channel Swim

At high tide in April, we caught the sun’s sleeve 
after school in our underwear—how the water 
chilled our brains into a mushy orchard, numbing 
our toes and fingers purple-yellow like Mardi-Gras 
confetti. I clutched our mother’s neck but then
so did my brother. That’s why we weren’t allowed
to watch Jaws. You shouldn’t watch it either. 

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Maya RibaultTSRPOETRY
Rochester

The car is parked in a ditch before the toll booth,
its lights off and the doors locked.

I don’t have a dollar,
and the booth worker has let me
walk to the convenience store in town
to take money from the ATM.

It’s spring already, and the flowers
in the night are blooming like a dead woman’s hair.

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Blake LynchTSRPOETRY
Manifesting Matt Damon

His smile is crooked, cracked, but blimming Bostonion perfection. He’s having the benedict with crab cakes, at $32. My fork jabs a bite; spits out the blue lump crab meat. It’s an East Coast thing he says, the seafood and breakfast thing.

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PARABLE

It dreams
of a thousand bees in the field
where it is not roaming. It dreams
of sweet honey water,
so we do our best. We try
to get the mixture right.

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Katherine LambTSRPOETRY